How it all started
by Glossina
Summary: This is the story contained in the diary of Francois Lebeau which was then given to his son, Louis to read.


There are no Hogan's heroes characters in this story but it is the story of Francois Lebeau and Richard (Dicky) Newkirk. The story was written in Francois' diary (Another time, another war).

Francois Lebeau sighed softly as he sipped slowly at his coffee. He had only been away from his family for about two months but he missed them terribly.

"Come", a voice above him said. "It is time to move on. We are almost at the Somme river and the captain would like to make it there before nightfall.

He looked up and saw his friend Pierre Aucion standing over him.

Francois sighed again and swallowed the last of his coffee and then stuck the tin cup into his pack. "Very well", he grumbled. His feet were tired and he had been hoping for a little more of a rest.

Pierre reached a hand down and then pulled Francois up to his feet.

"My feet are tired", Francois complained.

Pierre smiled and slid an arm around the smaller man. "You can lean on me, mon ami".

Francois returned his smile but he pulled away slightly. "I will be alright, Pierre".

They headed out after that, marching steadily toward's the Somme river and an uncertain future.

That night, as they camped near the Somme river, Francois took a small, leather bound book and a pencil from his pack and he began to write. The book was a diary that he had been keeping since he had gone off to war.

"What is the date?" he asked Pierre.

"It is the twenty first of January", Pierre replied. "Why do you ask, petit ami?"

Francois' face reddened slightly at the nick name that his friend had called him for most of their childhood and still insisted on calling him sometimes. "I am just writing a bit about our time here during this war", he muttered embarrassedly.

Pierre sat down next to his friend and peered over Francois' shoulder at what he was writing. "Don't worry, Francois. Marie and Claude are so young that they will likely not remember this time and Louis is a smart little boy. He will be able to handle whatever comes his way. And as far as Yvette goes, she is a strong woman and she will move forward with her life should something happen".

Francois smiled greatfully. Coming from anyone else, that comment would have seemed a bit cold and unfeeling but he knew that Pierre meant to reassure him.

The next ten days passed in a slow, monotinous trek along the Somme river and through the surrounding countryside. January 31 dawned cold and dreary. Snow was in the future but for right now, it was drizzling a cold rain down upon them and they were slogging through ankle deep mud.

"Have you written in that diary of yours lately?" Pierre asked as he walked next to Francois.

Francois shook his head. "It has been too wet to take it out of my pack and besides, nothing much has happened to write about except for the cold rain and the mud and that is not so interesting.

Pierre chuckled and slung an arm around his friend's shoulders and they continued walking along together.

they camped later that night in a small thicket of trees and Francois and Pierre sat together talking about their families and old times.

Early the next morning they were rousted out of their blankets and they quickly packed up and moved out.

"Another day in the mud", Francois complained.

"Cheer up, petit", Pierre chuckled. "At least the sun is out now and things can dry out for a while".

Francois returned his grin with one of his own and looked up at the sun. "Oui", he replied. "It is still cold but at least the rains have stopped and the sun is out".

"That's the right attitude", Pierre said, his grin broadening. But his grin disappeared when a red stain began blossoming across his chest and he slumped to the ground.

"Down, everybody down", Captain Phillipe Mercier shouted frantically as bullets began whizing past the men's heads.

Francois stood in shock though, staring at his friend's body, laying on the ground.

Captain Mercier tackled Francois, throwing him down and covering him up as best he could.

They crawled to the semi protective cover of some nearby bushes and returned fire from there. The fight lasted for nearly an hour but finally, the last german soldier was brought down and the remaining frenchmen climbed from their hiding places and surveyed the damage.

Three men lay dead. Jacques Pajot, a young private lay on the far side of a small clearing. Right next to Francois lay Captain Mercier, shot in the stomache. And then, not far away, lay Pierre Aucion, Francois' lifelong friend, shot in the heart.

The men stood staring at their lost friends and were at a loss as to what to do next. Their commanding officer was dead.

Suddenly, a man stepped forward and Francois recognized him instantly. Jean Claude Bernier. He was an ugly man at the very best of times. A twisted, scarred face that seemed perpetually frozen in a snarl, framed in a wild tangle of black, curly hair.

Although, Francois reflected in all due honesty, none of them looked their best at the moment and he imagined that his own hair didn't look much better.

Jean Claude took a small, collapsible shovel from his pack and began digging a hole to bury their friends. One by one, men began to join him, some pulling out shovels from their own packs and some simply digging with their hands.

When the job was done, Jean Claude slipped the dog tags of the dead men into his pocket, thought better of it and pulled Pierre's tags out and gave them to Francois.

Francois took them wordlessly and then just stared at them as though he didn't know what he was looking at.

"Come, little one", Jean Claude said softly as he reached down a scarred, twisted hand to the younger man. "It is time to go".

Francois blinked back his tears and grasped Jean Claude's hand and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. He had put Pierre's tags on the chain around his neck, along with his own tags and would continue to wear them untill the end of the war.

Francois looked occasionally at Jean Claude and finally the bigger man smiled crookedly. "It was an accident when I was a boy", he murmured softly.

Francois shrugged. "I would never judge a man by the way he looks and I have tried to teach my children that as well".

Jean Claude chuckled softly and continued walking, making sure to keep Francois at his side.

They marched on untill nightfall and then finally stopped to rest in a wooded area.

Francois dug in his pack and pulled out the diary. He opened it and began writing. He wrote briefly of Pierre's death but didn't go in to much detail as it was still too fresh and painful.

The next three days were filled with sporadic battles. They marched and fought and hid from the enemy with Jean Claude leading them.

Finally, on the afternoon of February 4th, the fighting escalted and suddenly, the german soldiers were upon them and they were engaged in hand to hand combat.

Jean Claude tried to keep Francois close to him in order to protect the much smaller man but soon they became seperated. Francois was knocked to the ground and then was accidently kicked in the head by one of his countrymen and was knocked unconcious. In the heat of the battle Jean Claude forgot about Francois and was soon leading a retreat.

Hours later, Francois awoke to an unearthly quiet. He was cold and wet and laying in an icy mud puddle. He struggled to a sitting position and looked around. "Oh, Simon", he moaned as he noticed a good friend laying not far away. Simon's lifeless eyes stared back at him, sending shivers down the young frenchman's spine.

Francois climbed to his feet and looked around. He found that he had been laying on top of his pack. He picked it up and shook off as much of the wet as he could and then slung his pack on his back and set out. His unit was gone. He didn't know if they had all been killed and he just hadn't found all the bodies yet or if they had thought him dead and had left without him.

He began walking, not really knowing where he was going but wanting to make progress somewhere, even if it was towards the wrong place. Anywhere was better than nowhere.

Later that night, he stopped to rest and eat some of his meager rations and sip a little of the water that was in his canteen. After he was finished eating, he pulled his diary out of his pack and wrote in it, writing of his being seperated from his unit. He grinned a little as he wrote. He couldn't help but wonder if the germans thought he was dead and so just simply left him there. "Good joke on them", he muttered softly to himself.

He spent the next three days walking through the woods. But finally, cold and exhaustion began to take their toll on him. He was also almost out of rations and only had a quarter of his canteen of water left.

On the afternoon of February seventh, he staggered weakly into a large, sunny clearing and right into the arms of a british soldier. He collapsed then and the englishman caught him and eased him down to the ground. The man who caught him was the commander of the british unit. He was an older, heavyset man named Col. Clarence Updike.

"Easy there, lad", Updike said as he settled the younger man on the ground. Updike looked him over and shook his head. "We 'ave to get the lad someplace warm and dry", he decided.

"Really now, colonel", one man grumbled. "He's only one little frenchman. And 'e'll only 'old us back. I say we leave 'im 'ere and get on with our own business".

"That's enough of that", Updike growled irritably. "Poor lad's nearly done in. We leave 'im 'ere and 'e'll die for certain". Saying that, Updike bent down and lifted the little frenchman and carried him along. Finally, he sent one of his men ahead to scout for a suitable place to camp for the night.

A short time later, a young man by the name of Fitzsimmons returned saying that he had found what looked to be an old sheppards hut, not far off.

"Lead the way", Updike grunted. As small as his burden was, the little frenchman was growing heavier by the minute.

"Let me 'ave 'im for a bit", a young, green eyed private offered.

Updike studied the younger man for a minute and then nodded. "Just don't drop the lad, Dicky", he ordered.

Richard Newkirk nodded. "I won't, guvnor", he said quickly as he took the frenchman from his commanding officer.

They made it to the small hut and went inside. They found an old dirty mattress on a rusted bedframe and a broken down looking fireplace.

"It'll have to do", Updike sighed as he gestured to the bed. "Lay the poor lad there", he instructed. "Then get 'is clothes off of 'im. They need to dry. You can cover 'im up with that blanket on the bed. It's not the cleanest in the world but it'll 'ave to do for now".

Richard Newkirk nodded and carried the frenchman over to the bed and laid him down and then stripped off his damp uniform and covered him with the tattered old blanket that was on the bed.

Updike ordered two of the men to go out and bring in firewood. When they had enough, they put some in the fireplace and started a fire.

Updike sighed and put Francois' clothes near the fire to dry and then studdied the frenchman for a while. He knew that his men resented the small man's presence there but they were at least holding their tongues on the matter.

By the next morning, Francois was coming around and was feeling a great deal better. He slipped on his, now dry, uniform and went over to the fire where there was a pot of coffee. He looked shyly at the man sitting nearest the fire and the man shrugged uncaringly. Francois smiled greatfully and poured himself a cup.

"What do you think you're doing?" a rather mean looking corporal asked sharply as he smacked the cup from Francois' hand.

"He, he said I could have some", Francois stamered, pointing to the man by the fire.

"Leave the lad be", Col. Updike ordered as he came up and noticed what was going on. Then he gestured to the cup laying on the floor. "Get the cup, lad and I'll give you a spot of coffee".

Francois smiled weakly and retrieved the cup.

Updike filled it and handed it back to Francois. "Now, lad", Updike said kindly. "How did you come to be all by yourself like that?"

Francois shrugged and told them how he had come to be seperated from his unit and then how he had tried to make his way towards help but had become lost and was weakened from lack of food, water and sleep. "I, I did the best I could", Francois said simply.

Updike smiled and patted his shoulder. "Of course you did, lad".

Dicky Newkirk came up then and eyed the little frenchman curiously. Then he turned to Updike. "We taking off soon, guv?" he asked.

Updike nodded and then smiled appologetically at Francois. "I'm afraid you'll have to come with us, my boy. We can't very well take you back to your own men and we can't really leave you here. You'd never make it back on your own".

Francois sighed and nodded. "I understand".

Dicky smiled sympathetically and patted the frenchman on the shoulder before walking away.

They left the small, run down hut that day and began making their way along through a wooded area.

It was getting cold now and at night, the men would make a fire and crowd together around it for warmth. Col. Updike would usually walk a perimter around the camp to ensure himself that there was no danger.

During that time, Francois would approach the group of men and try to sit with them.

"What do you think you're doing?" one of the men said coldly.

"I, I... ", Francois stammered uncertainly.

"Not enough room", another man growled. "You'll 'ave to sit over there". He pointed to the cold lonely shadows and Francois sighed and went to sit where he was told.

Col. Updike returned from his walk then and gestured Francois over to the fire.

"Don't sit in the cold and dark all by yourself, lad", Updike said in a friendly tone as he led Francois over to the group of men.

Dicky Newkirk shifted over and made room for the little frenchman on the large rock he was sitting on and Francois sank down gratefully.

The next several day were much the same untill finally, a week after Francois had been taken in by the british unit, and Francois was once again, standing on the fringes and watching the men sit together.

Dicky Newkirk watched Francois with sympathy. Bloody unfair, he thought to himself. The only time they're even a little bit nice to the poor, little bloke is when Col. Updike is around. He rose to his feet then and poured a cup of tea and quietly made his way to Francois.

"You look cold there, little mate", Dicky said softly. Francois nodded and then shivered slightly "You just 'old on to that cup for a while and warm your 'ands", Dicky said as he pushed the cup into the frenchman's cold hands.

Francois accepted the cup and gave Dicky a grateful smile. "Merci", he mumbled shyly.

Dicky grinned back at him and then went back to sit with his friends.

Francois watched him for a few minutes. He wasn't quite what Francois had always heard about the english. Neither was Col. Updike but that was to be expected in an officer. But Dicky Newkirk was something of a mystery to the frenchman. He seemed to be a bit of a rascal at times but he had also exhibited a kinder heart than most of the men had so far.

Updike came back from making his perimeter then and motioned Francois over. By then he was aware of his men's treatment of the little frenchman and was determined to make things as easy on him as possible.

Dicky Newkirk was having similar thoughts and decided to start that night. When Francois came over, he made room next to himself and then handed some of his rations over to the other man. "You, you cannot afford to give me your food", Francois protested weakly.

"Cor. Just take the bleedin food", Dicky growled softly. "You're thin enough and don't need to lose any more weight".

Francois took the food and shot Dicky a shy smile.

The next few day saw a routine develope. Col. Updike would call Francois over to the group of men and Dicky would give him some food and some tea.

The other men still weren't very friendly but at least Francois wasn't cold and hungry anymore.

Finally, Francois looked at his benefactor. "What is your name, mon ami?" he asked shyly.

Dicky looked surprised at the question but then figured that the frenchman had spent most of his time with them ostracized from the group and forced to sit things out on the fringes.

"It's Richard, little mate. But you can call me Dicky", Richard said kindly.

Francois smiled but his smile turned into a frown when Col. Updike informed Dicky that it was his turn to accompany the colonel on his nightly perimeter. Without Updike or Dicky there, he was in for a cold, lonely night.

Dicky and Updike left camp and Francois carefully approached the group of men.

"What do you want?" one of the more cruel men growled sharply.

Francois froze and turned to leave.

"Oh, come now, Johnny. Leave the lad alone", one of the men sighed.

"You just mind your own business, Will", the man named Johnny snapped then he glared at Francois. "Get you", Johnny yelled at Francois.

Francois beat a hasty retreat then and even the more sympathetic men turned a blind eye to his predicament now. Johnny Turner was a mean man and a big one and one not to be trifled with so, once again, Francois was left standing by himself on the fringes.

Two hours later, it began to snow lightly and Francois began to shiver. Some of the men wanted to let him near the fire but Johnny wouldn't allow it. And not only was he a bully but he held the highest rank with Updike not around so none of the men could or would argue with him.

Finally, Updike and Dicky came back from their patrol and Dicky noticed that Francois was off on his own again. He shook his head and poured out a cup of tea and took it over to Francois.

" 'ere, little mate", Dicky said softly, handing the cup to Francois.

Francois cradled the cup between his hands, trying to warm himself up.

"You've not got enough weight on ya, mate", Dicky said sympathetically.

Francois shivered violently then as a cold gust cut through his thin, ragged clothing.

Dicky frowned in concern and then reached out and slid an arm around the smaller man.

Francois tensed a little at the gentle touch but Dicky was determined and pulled Francois against his side to warm him up.

Francois looked over at the group of men seated together and then up at Dicky, wondering if he wouldn't rather be over with his friends around the fire, keeping warm.

Dicky looked down at the small, shivering frenchman at his side and shook his head as though he could read his mind.

Francois smiled slightly and leaned against his new friend.

He missed his family and his countrymen and was unsure of what the future might hold and he was so worried about the outcome of the war. But for tonight at least, he was no longer quite so alone. Now he had a friend and his name was Dicky Newkirk.


End file.
